


What It Means To Be An Artist

by Rixxy8173571m3W1p3



Series: The Fluffy Adventures With Your Boyfriend Doofus Rick [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Gift Giving, Inspired by Bob Ross, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Painting, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 07:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rixxy8173571m3W1p3/pseuds/Rixxy8173571m3W1p3
Summary: In this fic the reader is trying to decide what to buy for their boyfriend





	What It Means To Be An Artist

**Author's Note:**

> I was binge watching Bob Ross when I was writing this

You were very selective when it came to using the word artist. Like, many called themselves artists, but what did it mean? To you, you deemed anyone with a creative expression worthy to call themselves artists, and you would agree if you sincerely did. And right now, you saw the many reasons why one would want to become an artist. Coloring books, pens, a sale of photo boxes, oh yeah, this place was a crafters heaven.

The beads near the register had caught your eye, and you wondered if you should make a bracelet or something. Alright, so you were here because you wanted to buy a gift for your boyfriend, but considering how versatile he was, you didn't know where to start. The aisles were all categorized by type and theme, and while you understood the general idea, you knew you weren't an artist. Some of the workers offered to help, but you insisted that you knew what you were doing.

An hour later, your cart still looked pretty sad considering you had only picked up a few tubes of paint and a few brushes. If only you could stand inside the mind of an artist, have a feel for what they felt, and perhaps you would understand how they saw the world in a different light. Then, you saw it, that art smock, one that you knew you could decorate to your hearts delight. You would use shades of yellow to remind him of the Sun, highlights of crimson to remind him of your favorite shade of lipstick, touches of blue for his favorite shade of sky, and green to remind him of everything that was alive, of life, and the reasons for living. Before leaving the store, you picked up various buttons, and fabrics, smiling knowingly as though you had found the answer to life's big questions.

* * *

He didn't say anything when you gave him his gifts. His eyes examined everything, thoroughly checking every stitch, testing the fibers, his face serious. Damn it, he hated it, and you were about ready to find a rock to crawl under. After all the hard worked you put in, the pricked fingers, the fight with the thread ripper, you thought you were going to shrivel up and crumble. For once, you thought that maybe you could do something fantastic, something that he had never seen before, and impress him with your expression.

You apologized for being cheap, trying to be something you weren't, and for giving him a mediocre gift. You picked up your stuff so you could go, but the sound of sniffling stopped you. His arms were wrapped around himself, his body shook with his violent sobs, and he told you not to go. You decided to let go of your stupid pride and held him tight, cooing sweet words, listing everything that you loved about him. When he calmed, he returned your affection, peppering small kisses about your forehead and cheeks.

Damn, he loved it, and he loved you, but you already knew that.

* * *

Near the window, where his easel was set up, and his paints prepared, Zeta-7 was creating what you believed would be his next masterpiece. Beside him, a table held additional supplies just in case he decided to go wild with various mediums. You watched him from where you sat in the kitchen, his posture straight and confident, that goofy grin that spoke of his immeasurable happiness. God, you loved that man to pieces. Why, you wanted to kiss him breathless, but you knew you couldn't. Being as gentle, and shy as he was, you had to control yourself, but it could wait.

Whatever allowed you to deserve this man, you wouldn't question it.

* * *

As the morning light illuminated the day, scaring away the shadows of darkness, a genius of a man stood, adorned in a childish smock. The lighting would soon be perfect, and with the new colors, he knew what he would paint. With swiftness, color touched canvas, and he was happy. He thought about the day before, and chuckled at his own silliness for reacting how he had, but he knew you would understand, and was glad of it. He thought of the curve of your cheek, and the stillness of the room as your tears fell.

He was a fool, because he didn't have the words to tell you how much he loved you. Why, the words themselves were an enigma, they burned, they toiled, begging to be said, but afraid as ever he had been. You searched his face, and found the answer. Wrapped in each other's arms, Zeta-7 was close enough to whisper, and you were close enough to shiver. Both of you had come to a point, where you did not even need words to express your sincerest desires, making Zeta-7 blush at the thought.

That memory would forever be stained upon his soul.

Before, he thought that if he did what made people happy, he would have been okay. For a long time, he lived in other people's worlds, their cruel, dead, harsh worlds. Then he found escape, in the hues and shades, in the colors that humans could not fully perceive. And while it was nice, he had wondered if it was enough, but then you came. You were the light to his darkness, and it's contrast gave each of you meaning.

In this understanding, he could create endless works, delve into himself, be so much himself that he forgot he could feel embarrassed, and paint. A muse, a hope, a living dream, all of it he would spill upon the canvas. His world, your world, a perfect world. This was what made life fun. That he could make these decisions. That he could create the world that he wanted to be in, a world with him, and whole lot of you.

Art was everywhere, and he just wanted you to see it.


End file.
